


Indisposed

by agentlemanneverlies



Category: Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-02 23:52:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2830574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentlemanneverlies/pseuds/agentlemanneverlies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steven woke to the sound of sniffling and choked, heaving breaths, his first thought had been the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indisposed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Soooooo this fic is finally done! It took so fucking long oh my god... This was written for harlequinmarionette for her Christmas gift, and is heavily based on our headcanons for our role play blogs. If you would like to read more about these two idiots and their lives, Steven is here: http://wayward-vagrant.tumblr.com/ and Wallace is here: http://oceanic-elegance.tumblr.com/
> 
> (Originally this was an excuse to write Wallace in a less than sane scenario but it just- Well, you'll see~)

When Steven woke to the sound of sniffling and choked, heaving breaths, his first thought had been the worst. Something must have happened to Wallace, or one of his pokemon, to have him in such a state, and considering what a cheerful and positive person the champion normally was, it had to have been truly awful. Wallace frequently pulled late work nights due to his duties as champion, and a majority of nights, Steven would go to bed without him and wake to his embrace. During those times, Wallace was careful to train his pokemon in a controlled environment, but Steven knew that terrible events rarely gave foresight. If something had happened to Lovi or Elizabeth or- His concern heightened, and his panic at an absolute peak, Steven sat upright in their shared bed and leaned over his boyfriend.

“Wallace? Wallace, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Wallace rasped in response.

Well, it obviously wasn’t nothing if it had gotten the man this upset. “Walllaaaaccce, I thought we agreed to honesty.”

The champion sat abruptly and glared at his boyfriend. “Nothing is wrong, please, go back to bed.”

It was from this position, with both of them sitting, that Steven was able to conclude these words the truth. No – Nothing was emotionally wrong with the man – Though the room was dim, Steven could make out enough of Wallace’s appearance to start worrying for another reason altogether. His beautifully pale skin had fallen to a sickly grey pallor, with no color save a thin dusting of rose on his cheeks. His eyes, once vibrant and swirling with the reflections and memories of the sea itself now resembled a murky pond; they were dulled, shadowed, glossy, and honestly, if Steven wasn’t 100% trusting of Wallace, he’d have compared them to the eyes of a drug addict. His lips were parted and chapped, showing exactly why Steven had heard sniffling, his expression was tired despite his decent sleeping schedule, and his silken hair had been misplaced and matted to where it covered his shoulders in a messy mop. Ah yes, Wallace looked the absolute epitome of health.

“You’re sick,” Steven murmured softly, in an effort to keep his voice down. He knew from their teenage years that although Wallace was good at avoiding illness, when it hit him, it hit him hard, and often he was left with excruciating headaches.. If he could avoid it, Steven would try not to raise his voice above a gentle hum. Gently, he reached out and placed a hand over Wallace’s forehead, but moved back almost instantly at the intense heat emanating from his flesh. “You’re– Arcues, why didn’t you wake me? You’re feverish.”

Wallace seemed to give up and flopped down onto the covers, his eyes shut tight as his breaths came in short gasps. Steven couldn’t see his face from his new position, but he could practically feel the discomfort leaking out from the water trainer. He found it strange, water was Wallace’s element, yet here he was, on fire.

“Din’nt wanna worry you.” His words were slurred, yet whether from fatigue or fever Steven still couldn’t tell. “Besides, gotta match t’morrow.”

Steven shook his head at the absurdity of that last bit. There was no way Wallace would be able to fight a match the next day, not with how ill he was. He didn’t get the chance to voice these thoughts, for Wallace’s breathing had slowed and calmed enough to notify his unconsciousness. Steven winced. It was still ragged and uneven, and he knew it was the fever’s fault, but rest was rest; at the very least, Wallace would get some sleep, which was an improvement from his nightly habits.

Steven did his best to remain silent as he slid out of bed, stood, and set his feet onto the soft, carpeted floor. It was times like these he was grateful for carpet. In the winter, it rarely got cold enough to be considered a frigid climate, but wood and tile floors were never pleasant to tread upon. He made his way quietly into the bathroom, his steps even and slow. There wasn’t much he could do to help Wallace at this point; it was late at night, the poor man was passed out, and his own medical knowledge wasn’t extensive enough to make an impact on his condition. Naturally, he did what he could.

He grabbed a small cloth from their shared bathroom, wet it, wrung it out, and placed it on his boyfriend’s burning head. Wallace whimpered and shifted, as though trying to flee some unknown threat, but Steven ran a gentle hand over his cheek. “Shhh, shhh… I know it’s probably cold, but it’s for the best.”

His own energy spent, he crawled back into his side of the bed and nudged himself against the form of his lover. “Goodnight.” He hoped Wallace would feel better in the morning.

\--------------

Unfortunately for Steven, his hopes were shattered come dawn. The morning light had brought a newfound clarity to his mind as his eyes shuttered open. It was a new day, and with it came a match. He’d been looking forward to judging this one for quite some time, almost more than Wallace had anticipated fighting it. His life, however more enjoyable it had been since he’d settled down with Wallace, had been monotonous and bland. League matches remedied that.

Unfortunately, so few made it through the elite four, and Wallace rarely got to fight, leaving them both casually lounging around the building a majority of the time. Not that Steven minded it much, there was plenty you could do with a boyfriend in such a large and mostly empty facility after all. He merely craved a little excitement.

It was only natural for him to get excited for the match.

As he blinked his sleep away, sat up, and took in Wallace’s still unconscious form, it became apparent that the match would need to be rescheduled.

The complexion of his face had worsened in the night, if at all possible, to the point where Steven doubted he’d even wake. He was pale as porcelain, his cheeks were now bright red, and his expression pained. His hair was damp, his skin clammy, and his breathing so uneven that Steven entertained the idea of immediately contacting a doctor. He only pushed the thought to the back of his mind, however, when he recalled that he had not yet done anything to try and help Wallace’s condition.

Steven placed a hand gently over his forehead, and felt the intense fire burning through his blood and cringed. Yeah. There was definitely no way he was going to make that match today.

Just then, Wallace’s eyes fluttered open, a soft wheezing puff of air escaping his lips at he struggled to force himself into reality. His vision, for the most part, was unfocused, fatigued; Steven wasn’t entirely sure he was even seeing, he looked so deluded. Wallace attempted to croak out, “Steven whah…?” This only ended with him rolling to his stomach and choking out a series of painful sounding coughs, to which Steven could do nothing more than offer a gentle caress to his back. Wallace’s body shuddered and convulsed with the strain of his fit, and when he finally calmed, his breathing was once more shaky and uneven at best.

“Whah’bout th’match?” He slurred.

Steven shook his head, his forefinger brushing against Wallace’s chapped lips. “Shhh, the match has been moved,” he lied. He’d call Wallace in sick after he made sure the stubborn man would rest. “You’re really ill Walls, go back to sleep.”

Thankfully, Wallace didn’t seem to question his words, for the moment, his eyes were shut, his breaths were slow, and he was out cold. Steven released a sigh of relief, having never realized how awful Wallace could be when sick until he was fairly compliant. At the same time however, this concerned Steven. Wallace always fought back when ill. It didn’t matter how bad things got, if he was conscious of his ailment he would insist his own health and try to go about his usual routine until the point of collapse. The fact that he wasn’t doing so now meant that he must really be delusional, and this was greatly concerning to Steven.

He didn’t let that deter his thoughts for long, however. There was work to be done. He scurried out of the room, pulled out his cell phone, and quickly dialed the familiar number of the match organizer. It was such short notice that he briefly wondered if they’d even be able to cancel it, but then he recalled his own champion days and shook his head at the absurdity. The champion’s health was top priority, and if they were so delirious with fever that they couldn’t properly string together a sentence without sounding drugged, there would be no match.

The line rung twice before an older man picked up, saying a friendly, “Steven! What’s going on? How are you?”

Steven chuckled. This man had been doing his job for years, and in his earlier days as champion, Steven had become quite close with him. He was old and frail, yet held an inspiring twinkle in his eyes, and a warmth in his words. Steven remembered being captivated by his stories in his month of boredom, and while he was no longer champion, he did go out of his way to make sure he spoke with this man every once in awhile.

However, this call was not about idle chitchat. “Bruce. Sorry, I don’t have the time to chat.” He could hear the confusion swirling about the silence on the other end. “The match today– Er. Walls is– Well, I need you reschedule. Wallace is pretty ill, fever, chills, cough – He’s really out of it. I’ll honestly be surprised if he manages to wake long enough for me to force some liquid down his throat.” Well, he was known for being blunt.

Bruce awkwardly cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll get on it right away.” A pause. “Do you need a doctor.”

Despite their conversation being over the phone, Steven shook his head. “There’s no need. I’m sure it’s just a small bug.”

“You sure?” Bruce sounded rather hesitant to accept that Wallace would be safe in his care.

Steven rolled his eyes. “Positive. It looks bad, but it’ll likely go away pretty soon. Wallace has a history with these types of things. “

“Well– “ There was silence over the line, and for a brief moment Steven wondered if he was going to insist on sending a doctor. Wallace wasn’t exactly fond of medical professionals, whether he was in a hospital or his home, and Steven couldn’t imagine him being too thrilled about seeing a doctor before he even got the chance to rest. Thankfully though, Bruce agreed to his terms. “Alright. But call if anything dangerous happens. We have medical staff on duty all hours of the day, can’t have the champion dying on us after all.” He gave a noticeably weak chuckle.

“Yeah… I will.” He didn’t give his old friend a chance to reply; he pressed the end call button as soon as his words were spoken. He knew the man was simply thinking of Wallace’s health, but Steven wasn’t in the mood to deal with a panicking old man. Right then, his focus was solely on the unconscious man lying in his bedroom. Steven attempted to calm himself with a sigh, but it did little. He’d always gotten jittery when Wallace was unwell; it didn’t matter how severe the injury or illness was, if Wallace hurt in any way, emotionally or physically, Steven stressed himself over the most miniscule detail.

He carded a hand through slate wisps of hair. It wouldn’t do to panic just yet… Wallace had only just begun to show symptoms of whatever this was. He’d been absolutely fine the morning before, and this gave him hope that Wallace would be fine in a day or so.

In the meantime, he’d do his best to help his boyfriend feel more at ease.

Steven recalled when he was a small boy how his mother had made him chicken soup and sat up with him when he had nightmares. He smiled at the memory. He couldn’t see her anymore, but he could pass on her kindness with his own actions.

He crept towards the kitchen, careful to remain quiet for his sleeping boyfriend. It didn’t exactly matter, considering how feverish he was; any noise was likely lost to Wallace at this point. Steven just felt more at ease knowing he was making the effort.

He wasted no time in pulling out a rather large pot and filling it with fresh drinking water. He would add vegetable stock, barley, and carrots, as well as some seasonings he knew Wallace enjoyed. If there was one craft he knew better than training pokemon, it was cooking. His mother had taught him many things before he’d left at thirteen, and after leaving, he’d continued his practice. Now, at the age of twenty six, Steven was essentially, a master chef, and often joked about going off to work in some fancy foreign restaurant.

He never would, of course, but it was a playful running gag he and Wallace held.

By then, he knew Wallace’s tastes like the back of his hand. Wallace preferred spicier foods to mild ones, sweet to savory, and cold to warm. He enjoyed drinking tea with his meals, hated adding extra condiments such as salt, pepper, or ketchup, and under no circumstances, would touch anything containing meat. Wallace was completely vegetarian; he refused to even think of meat. Luckily, Steven knew how to cook for the both of them while avoiding the obvious meat dishes he ate as a child, and ensuring Wallace received a nutritional diet.

He chopped the carrots with swift precision; his hand lightly gripped the knife as though it were some precious childhood memento. As he did so,  he recalled their younger years, namely how Steven hadn’t believed Wallace when he’d made the switch to a vegetarian lifestyle. The memories made him smile a bit. Initially, he had attempted to force meat based foods into his friend’s mouth, and upon learning this method could only end in failure, had resorted to sneaking bits of fish and beef into his meals. Being the chef he was, it hadn’t been hard.

At least, until Wallace found out. He shuddered at the memory. Since then, Steven had been careful to cook only vegetarian foods for his lover.

Carrots chopped, vegetable broth prepped, and barley ready to go, Steven paused to throw his remaining ingredients together and stir the mixture in the pot. Although he no longer snuck meat into Wallace’s food, he did sneak in other protein heavy foods. Although by now, it wasn’t so secretive. Normally when he made vegetable soup he’d mix the broth with cream or milk. This ensured its thick and creamy texture, and gave Wallace some of the nutrients he tended to neglect in his unique diet. However, now that Wallace was ill, dairy based foods would not be good on his chest or his throat, so, Steven left the broth as it was.

The soup was just beginning to come to a boil when Steven heard his phone ringing noisily against the kitchen counter. A silent curse spilled from his lips, his hands deftly dropping the cooking utensils he was clearing away, and instead gripping the small electronic device that seemed dead set on disturbing his boyfriend’s slumber. The caller ID instantly identified who was pestering him, and he groaned. Of all people–

He pressed the green button and placed the damned thing against his ear and spoke, “Phoebe – Damn, of all times – What’s up?” He vaguely wondered if perhaps the news of Wallace’s ailment had reached her, yet quickly pushed the thought from his mind, as, it had only been a half hour since he’d informed Bruce of the match cancellation.

On the other end of the line, she giggled. “So, how are things going with your boyfriend?”

“With Wallace, you mean. You two are on a first name basis, there’s no need to be so informal about it.” Really, he was avoiding the question. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge that he and Hoenn’s champion were dating. There had been some complications with Steven coming out to his family, and they had both decided they did not need the added stress of the media.

Amongst the people who did know, it was no secret that Steven was madly, head over heels for Wallace. Often, he wondered how long their relationship would last; Wallace was special in ways that could not be put into words. He was a world famous coordinator, champion of the Hoenn region, and one of the most beautiful men on the planet. Whereas Steven was a former champion who couldn’t handle the stress, nearly disowned heir to a small corporation, and a collector of pretty rocks. Sure he was average in appearance, and a decent trainer with a large amount of savings, but compared to Wallace? Well, It wasn’t unusual for him to feel unworthy.

Like always, Phoebe seemed to sense this. “Oh come on, you know what I mean. Have you realized it yet? How much he cares for you?”

Biting his lip, he tried to evade her interrogation. “Phoebe, now isn’t a good time –”

She quipped, “why not? When is it ever a good time?”

She did have a point. Okay, he’d rephrase that. “Now really isn’t a good time. Walls is…” Suddenly, he remembered that he was making vegetable soup, and glanced over at the stove. It wasn’t burning, but it was nearly done, signaling an excuse for him to abruptly end the call. “Shit!” Putting the phone on speaker, he moved swiftly, turning down the heat so that it would remain warm, and taking off the lid. The sound of doing so ricocheted around the small kitchen he and Wallace shared, alerting his conversation partner to his rather sudden and rash action. “Sorry, the soup was about to burn.”

“Soup? Why are you making soup? It’s like eight in the morning.” Her curiosity knew no bounds apparently.

“I was trying to say earlier that Wallace is sick. That’s why it’s a bad time, can I call you back later?”

“Man, he’s never sick. Yeah, do what you must.” He could hear the concern evident in her voice. “Give him my best wishes, yeah? And don’t think this is over! I’ll get you to realize his feelings sooner or later.” Thankfully, at that note, she hung up, leaving the line dead.

Honestly, was everyone out to make his morning more difficult?

He pushed his obvious feelings of discomfort from his mind and turned back to his task of feeding Wallace. Now that the soup was done, he could leave it for the remainder of the day and sporadically feed it to his ill boyfriend. Provided he was even capable of keeping food down. Steven vaguely recalled one occasion that Wallace hadn’t been able to so much as drink a sip of water, and he and Juan had taken him to a hospital in Mosdeep. That had been unpleasant in numerous ways, and he shuddered at the memory. Hopefully Wallace wouldn’t become that dehydrated this time.

He took a ladle from a nearby drawer, and poured a couple scoops of the savory mixture into a bowl. It was steaming hot, but not hot enough to burn Wallace’s tongue. The scent made Steven’s stomach growl, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten yet that day. He’d get something later; Wallace came first.

Upon entering their bedroom, Steven had to bite his lip to hold back laughter. This wasn’t funny, he tried to tell himself, but in fact, it was rather humorous. Wallace was such a peaceful sleeper, often cuddling up against Steven and staying serene and still until the morning sun roused him from his dreams. He never kicked away the blankets when it grew too warm, as Steven often did. He never stole the covers from his boyfriend when it grew too cold, instead shifting only slightly closer to him. Once his breathing evened out, he was a statue, albeit a tranquil and beautiful one. Yet here–

Yeah, it wasn’t a little funny, it was really funny.

Wallace was sprawled messily across the bed, his tangled hair splaying out in every direction around him. The blankets were scarcely even on the bed, hanging from a tangle around one of his legs, and the pillows were mostly on the floor. Only a single sheet remained relatively where it should be, and even then it was messily draped over Wallace’s feverish figure. Steven shook his head. Only when he was sick could Wallace’s sleeping habits become worse than his own.

He set the bowl down on his boyfriend’s bedside table before sitting on the edge of the bed and gently shaking Wallace’s shoulder. “Walls, Come on, I brought you soup.”

Wallace raised his head in confusion, rolling on his side so he could more easily face Steven. “Steven? Whah…? Soup?”

“Yeah, soup. The kind you love, with barley and vegetables. Except, this time without most of the vegetables because I don’t think you can stomach acidic foods.” Well, carrots were still vegetables. Wallace seemed to accept this answer, for he rolled onto his back and attempted to sit. Unfortunately, due to the lack of pillows currently on the bed, and his lack of strength, he failed quite miserably, and flopped onto the mattress with a groan.

Steven frowned, stood, and gathered what pillows he could. If Wallace couldn’t sit on his own, he’d have to help. He helped guide Wallace into a sitting position, and slipped several pillows behind him to help keep the ill man propped up. “Better?” A nod. “Do you think you can stomach some soup?” Another nod. Obviously Wallace’s throat was hurting more than he let onto. “Do you need me to feed you?” A pause, and a more hesitant nod. Steven sighed, running a hand through his boyfriend’s bangs. “You’re lucky I love you.”

He knew Wallace wouldn’t answer; he rarely did. It was just one of those things he’d long since adjusted to. He loved Wallace with all his heart and spoke it whenever he could. Wallace had returned the words, just, not nearly as often. Steven had grown to accept silence as a response to his declarations of emotion, though it didn’t help to close the void left in his heart with each equivocation.

He grabbed the bowl off the nightstand and stirred it a little with the spoon. The soup was just warm enough to be eaten, so he didn’t bother blowing on it, instead taking a spoonful, and slowly guiding it towards Wallace’s mouth. The champion ate it, although his lack of expression signaled to Steven that he couldn’t taste much. When he swallowed, Steven repeated the motion, again, and again. Thankfully, Wallace managed to eat half the bowl before rasping out, “I can’t– M’done...” He wouldn’t need to force nutrients down the man’s throat after all.

Steven set the bowl down once more on the bedside table and frowned. Now, what to do about that fever? The cloth he’d placed over Wallace’s brow hadn’t helped much; in fact, the champion seemed worse off than before. He wasn’t sure if they had any tylenol, but the least he could do would be check, if only for Wallace’s sake.

“Wait here okay?” Without waiting for a reply, he stood and scurried towards their shared bathroom. As it turned out, they did in fact, have tylenol. He retrieved a glass of water and made sure Wallace drank the whole thing before handing him the chewable tablet. Wallace grimaced as he took it, but didn’t put up any further protest, much to Steven’s relief. All that was left now was to ensure he slept, and then repeat the process until he was well again. As he helped Wallace back into a lying position, he sighed. It was going to be a long, worry filled week.

\--------------

It was another six days before Steven deemed his boyfriend well enough to be left on his own. His fever hadn’t dissipated completely, but it was low enough that it no longer required constant supervision. In fact, Steven wasn’t concerned about his fever at all. No, what concerned him more was the cough Wallace had clung to since the start of his illness. It was deep, set in his chest, and painful sounding, and Steven was beginning to consider calling a doctor. But, as of then, it wasn’t too much of an alarm. Wallace was still breathing alright, after all. With the way he despised doctors, Steven hadn’t the heart to call one when things weren’t deadly.

No matter, Wallace was well enough. Steven had neglected his job in order to care for the poor man, something that had been highly appreciated considering his position as champion, but now it was time to return to work. He’d been gone long enough.

Wallace was curled up on the couch sipping at a cup of warm tea when Steven entered the living room. It wasn’t unusual. Since his fever had lowered and he’d regained some sense he had begun moving to the couch during the day so he could watch television. However, Steven noted that the screen was black. Interesting. Jokingly, he murmured, “enjoying your show?” Wallace grunted and took another sip of his tea. Steven sat down beside him.

“Hey, Walls. I know how much you love my presence, but I gotta supervise a match today. I’ve been trying to push everything off until you’re one hundred percent well, but… Sidney’s gonna have my ass if I move this one again.” He suppressed a shudder. The dark type trainer could be quite – expressive of his anger. “Will you be alright alone? I can call Drake if you need me to –?”

At this point Drake was about the only person Steven trusted with the health of the champion. It wasn’t a matter of responsibility or maturity. Wallace had been practically raised by his mentor, and during that time, Drake had remained a close family friend to him. By now, he and Wallace were both fond of Drake; he was another paternal figure to them. Which is exactly why he was the only person worthy of caring for Wallace in such a state.

Wallace shook his head, and Steven nodded. He’d only be gone a couple hours, unless Bruce wanted him to file paperwork. Unlikely, but still plausible. There was no need for a babysitter. Steven placed a gentle hand on his lover’s forehead. It was warm, but not concerning. Good. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He smiled at Wallace and his hand lingered for a moment, before standing and walking to the door. Within moments, Wallace was alone in the home.

\--------------

As it turned out, Bruce did require him to do excess paperwork in Wallace’s stead. Sidney’s match had been a joke, if it could be called even that. How the poor girl had managed to collect eight badges was beyond him. She had lost so hard that she’d swore she’d become a coordinator instead of challenging the league once more. Poor thing.

Of course, winning or losing didn’t matter to him. Either way Steven had paperwork. Bruce had done an excellent job of postponing matches and due dates, but now that Wallace was feeling better, if only slightly, he was required to actually get some work done. So, the daunting task of signing away on menial forms and orders was left to him.

The match had begun around noon, and was over in a matter of mere minutes, leaving ‘plenty of time to get work done’ as Bruce had put it. Honestly, Steven was convinced Bruce just wanted to watch him suffer. He wouldn’t put it past the old man. They were friends, but not in close brotherly way; if anything, his friendship with the older man did more harm to his mental stamina than good. None the less, by six in the evening, he was drowning in unsigned documents.

He started with the basics; documentations of that day’s match. He was the supervisor of matches, but part of his duties included creating a careful record of battles that occurred before his eyes. Though the loss had been definite, he was required to narrate each move, attack, and injury. All in all, it proved quite tedious. The project took him thirty minutes at most, and then he switched over to another matter. Though he was no longer champion, the fact that he’d previously held the title qualified him to act as a stand in for his rather ill boyfriend. He loathed it. He’d never been fond of slaving away signing off on legal documents, and now that he was doing so and it was completely unrelated to his job– Well– He wasn’t too pleased. But, this was all for Wallace. He tried to tell himself this, repeating the words in his mind as a mantra.

It was nearing eleven when he finally finished enough for Bruce to appear satisfied, and by the time Steven got home, he expected to find Wallace passed out on either the couch or the bed. When he stepped through their door to find silence, he wasn’t concerned. In fact, he was quite relieved. In the past day or so his sleep had been better, so it wasn’t too surprising, but earlier in the week he’d suffered intense nightmares and feverish delusions. His sleep had been limited at best. Perhaps the unusual still and quiet of  the place signified that Wallace was finally getting a good night’s rest.

Steven shuffled into the house and locked the door behind him. He wasted no time in kicking off his shoes and hanging his coat on a hook. The living room was still; much too still to house a living being. Glancing at the couch, his suspicions were confirmed. Wallace was not asleep on the old piece of furniture, which left only one place. Their bed.

He crept silently into their shared bedroom, expecting to see a mess of bedding strewn about the floor with Wallace curled in the middle of a barren mattress. In such a case he’d merely ensure his lover was warm and properly covered, and move himself over to the couch for the night. Wallace needed rest after all. In a way, his expectations were fulfilled. The bed was a mess, that much was certain. The blankets looked as though they’d been attacked and rearranged to nest a family of Ratata, the pillows were mostly on the floor, and the mattress itself was off center. Yet–

There was no Wallace.

Worry was beginning to bubble inside the former champion. If not on the couch nor the bed? Where in the world could Wallace possibly be? All the lights in the house were turned off, the doors and windows shut, and the air still. It was as though he’d simply ceased existing during Steven’s absence. Perhaps he’d fallen into a fevered delirium and attempted to leave? No, the door would have been unlocked. Perhaps–? No.

Nothing seemed like a plausible explanation for his lover’s disappearance, and as hard as he tried, he could not for the life of him ascertain as to whether or not he was overreacting. Surely Wallace had taken care of himself, yet, if he truly had, then where was he? Steven’s panic of course, only grew when he heard a faint whimper emanate from the other side of the bed. He scurried around the bed, biting his lip as he saw his boyfriend.

Wallace was curled inward, his arms clutched against his stomach and his legs brought protectively closer to his torso. His cheeks had once more taken on a reddish hue, his face a ghostly shade in contrast, his eyes were shut tight, clearly pained, and his teeth were clenched. His whimpers following the first grew increasingly more distressed, and more frequent. And Steven knelt beside the other man, trying to calm him.

“Marlowe–! S-stop– S’not–” Wallace muttered through his sleep.

“Wallace shh…” He ran a loving hand over his boyfriend’s pajama clad shoulder, frowning when the other flinched. How odd. Nightmares weren’t exactly uncommon, but usually Steven’s gentle touch was enough to rouse him back to reality. Then again, Wallace wasn’t usually feverish. Wallace whined and scratched at his stomach, as though trying to pry something away. “Wallace?” Steven tried to rouse him from his uneasy slumber, but gentle shakes were not working. He grasped Wallace’s shoulder more firmly and jostled him. It did little.

“Wallace.” By now his tone of voice was rigid, tense, and worry filled. Wallace did not open eyes, nor did he show any sign of consciousness aside from his frantic fidgeting and whispers of the name ‘Marlowe’. The question of who Marlowe completely evaded his thoughts; Wallace’s fever had obviously spiked, and he wasn’t sure what to do. He placed a hand lovingly against Wallace’s face, hoping it would stir him, yet it achieved a different effect entirely. Steven bit his lip, noting how incredibly hot the skin was, and pulled his hand away.

He knew Wallace’s fever had spiked, but he hadn’t expected it to be quite this extreme.

He shuffled to find a thermometer and lost his balance when he left the bathroom at an unnatural angle. Ungracefully, he crashed to the floor. The thermometer landed several inches from his hand, but thankfully, since it was digital, did not break. Steven picked himself off the ground and strode over to his unconscious boyfriend. From here he tried to coax him into a sitting position, or at least give him enough vertical leverage that he could use the thermometer without choking. Though the one he held was oral, it was not their only one. Yet, he didn’t think Wallace could handle anything more than this with the way he was squirming.

He held Wallace in place, slipped the metallic rod into a plastic sleeve, and then slipped it into his boyfriend’s mouth. It would be several seconds before the timer beeped out, possibly longer if his fever was exceptionally high. He hoped this was not the case. Wallace had been doing so well…

As the device beeped, Wallace’s dreams seemed to dissipate, if only slightly, but he was left wheezing. His breaths were incomplete, crackling, and pained sounding, making Steven’s already fast heart rate accelerate further. “Wallace, hey, breathe for me, in –” He knew Wallace wasn’t hearing him, but speaking instructions helped to ease Steven’s head a little. “– Out.”

Finally, he dared a glance at the thermometer, and his eyes widened as he did so. 104.7. That was– Well, bad was an understatement here. This was a hospital worthy fever, and considering it had climbed so suddenly, Steven knew there was no denying it any more. He needed to call a doctor. He threw the thermometer aside; it didn’t matter anymore. Wallace was the only thing occupying his thoughts, and he did his best to awkwardly lift the larger man on the bed. Though he was strong from his years of rock climbing, Wallace was at least six inches taller than him, and the size made things feel weird.

Once his lover was situated, Steven pulled out his phone and scrolled down to the one league contact he’d hoped never to use; the medical staff. They were on duty twenty four hours each day in shifts, and specialized in both human and pokemon treatment. These doctors were the best of the best, which of course, seemed only fitting for the champion and his elite four. The phone rang four times before clicking on, and for a moment, Steven’s heart fell at the thought that they might not answer, but, a cheerful voice on the other end reassured him.

He didn’t even wait for the man to finish his hello; he launched quickly into his issue as soon as it beeped. With Wallace so feverish, time was of the essence. “Hello, look, I don’t have a lot of time to waste alright? It’s Steven. Wallace is– Wallace is absolutely burning I can’t–” He bit his lip, emotion swelling in his chest. What if Wallace didn’t last through the night? He was certainly sick enough to fade away without much questioning. “He’s not waking, he’s barely breathing, if you can call choking that– Arceus, you need to send someone over here, now.”

“Burning? Tell me, how high is his fever exactly?”

“104.7,” he breathed out. There was a pause on the other end, which Steven knew was likely attributed to the fact that this doctor hadn’t expected the issue to be quite so bad.

“– Right, I’ll be there in around thirty.”

“Right.”

A pause. “– In the meantime, I need you to help him. There isn’t much you can do without knowing what he has – But, there is still something. I want you to get him in the tub. But, not an ice bath, not a hot one, I want you to give him a room temperature bath. The warm water will help to bring his fever down without shocking his system. Only keep him in for about fifteen minutes, if you can. Make sure to keep the water away from his face, we don’t need it getting in his nose if he’s already having trouble breathing.”

Steven nodded as more of a confirmation to himself than anything.

“And for the love of Arceus, when you dry him off, make sure he’s completely dry. I know he has longer hair, if you have to, use a blowdryer. But any remaining moisture is just going to aggravate his condition.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

The call ended on a tense, solemn note, and Steven faithfully went to draw a lukewarm bath. There was no thought to the task, his mind had numbed considerably. How had he let the illness escalate? He should be a better boyfriend than this– Wallace’s health was more important than anything, and yet somehow Steven had managed to screw even that up. He sighed and watched the water pour into the porcelain basin. So much for trying to be a perfect lover.

The tub was around half full, so he turned off the faucet and went back into his bedroom. It took a matter of seconds to peel the sweat plastered pajamas away from Wallace, yet nearly three minutes to carry him into the bathroom. All through the trip he squirmed and struggled in Steven’s embrace, and Steven had to hold him like a vise so he would not fall.

When he lowered the champion into the tub, his thrashing only increased, sending splashes of water in every direction. He rejected the water with such ferocity, Steven briefly considered pulling him out. It was only the thought of what the doctor had told him that prevented such actions. No matter how badly Wallace fought back, this was for his health. Though, these words didn’t ease his pain as he watched his lover suffer.

Finally, he decided Wallace had had enough, and tried once more to rouse him, this time by climbing into the tub after him and maneuvering so that Wallace was pillowed peacefully against his body. His clothes were now soaked through and through, and likely ruined, but it mattered little. As soon as Wallace felt the familiar heat of his boyfriend, his eyes fluttered open, and he nuzzled closer to Steven. “S-steven–?” His voice was pained and raspy, but it was present, and that was enough for Steven.

Steven placed a kiss on his fevered brow and murmured, “shhh… I’m here. You gave me quite a scare, you know?”

If Wallace heard him, he didn’t process. He closed his eyes again. “S’awful. Hurts so much–” His coughing started again again, this time more wet, deep, and painful than Steven had heard all week. Steven firmly stroked his back in an effort to soothe his pain. The gesture did not cease his coughing, but it did manage to calm them.

After ten minutes, Steve decided Wallace had been wet for long enough. In that time Wallace had dozed off once more, so he gently rubbed his shoulder. “Hey, we’re gonna get out now.” Wallace nodded listlessly.

Steven heaved Wallace up and onto the tile floor and wrapped him in a towel. He was still in his wet clothing, but he’d put up with his own discomfort for as long as necessary; Wallace came first. Next was the tedious task of drying the ill man. His hair was so long and voluminous that it took nearly ten minutes with a blowdryer to get it soft and fluffy. By that time, there was not a single droplet of water anywhere else on his body; gravity had kicked in and dried him better than the towel ever could. Steven quickly and loosely braided his hair. If he was going to be tossing and turning in his sleep this would keep it out of the way, as well as prevent tangling. With nothing left to do for Wallace, he escorted his boyfriend back to their bedroom.

His timing was perfect too, for the moment Wallace was covered with a clean sheet and blanket, a knock echoed through the house. Steven ignored the dampness of his clothing and went to retrieve the doctor. He’d deal with the wet carpets later, once he was certain Wallace would be okay.

Steven promptly led the man up where Wallace lay, and waited nervously in the doorway as the doctor approached the champion. The doctor turned to look him up and down. His eyes focussed on Steven’s wet clothes and he sighed. Steven suddenly felt quite moronic wearing a drenched suit, sans the jacket. “– It’s– It’s a long story.” Thankfully, the doctor didn’t question it.

“Go change in the bathroom while I examine him. Your wet clothes are just silly. Wait five minutes. I don’t need your frantic energy disturbing my work.”

Obediently, he moved to his dresser to retrieve a pair of pajamas, and then fled to the bathroom to change.

That doctor was– Something else, he decided. He was quite arrogant, and if Steven didn’t know for a fact the league only hired the best of the best he would question whether or not he could trust him with the health of anyone. But then, most league staff were a bit off in the head since all that mattered there was skill.

First, he removed his shirt. He ran his fingers slowly over each individual button and took in the feeling of the pearly little shapes. He hadn’t been overly fond of individual details like buttons until after he began dating Wallace. Wallace taught him the beauty in everything, no matter how small, how large, how simple, or how complex. Steven looked at the world with a new perspective now, and so, each button opened with a thought of what made it elegant. Soon, his shirt was off.

Next, came his pants. His hand traveled down each leg, feeling the fine material they’d been sewn from. These were tailored to fit him, as were all his other clothes, but these were his favorite. If they didn’t survive the bath they’d gotten, he could have another pair made, but he liked these the best, as they were comfortable. a single button was all it took to loosen his pants, and with a bit of awkward fumbling, his pants joined his shirt on the floor.

He didn’t bother to pause and admire his underwear; the were just undergarments. But, he did steal a moment to view at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t as lean as Wallace; his body was brawny and athletic. He appeared thin when he wore suits, but– When he curled around his lover sometimes he wondered if Wallace knew how strong he was. If he wished, he could snap a man’s neck in two. He was careful with his strength of course, but–

Steven’s thoughts had taken a downward spiral, so he shook his head and threw on his pajamas. He slept without underwear those days; since more often than not he woke up with a rather unpleasant surprise, he didn’t see the point in adding tension to his sleepwear. Instead, he wore just a pair of loose fitting pajama pants, and a fuzzy shirt.

He emerged from the bathroom considerably more calm than he’d been upon entering. Perhaps his adrenaline had finally run out, or perhaps he was just put at ease by his sleep clothes; either way he felt a definite difference. Great timing too. Wallace was sleeping more peacefully than he had been all week. His breathing was still tense and labored, but whatever terror had been afflicting him had lifted, and he lay still on the bed.

The doctor approached him, frowning. “A bacterial lung infection. Not Pneumonia, but if you’d left it alone any longer it probably would have been. I gave him a decongestant and a fever reducer for tonight, but it won’t do anything long term.” He paused. “I’ll be by tomorrow with prescription medicines. An antibiotic and a cough medicine, as well as something more generic for the fever. With a few more days rest and at least a week on both prescriptions he’ll be fine.”

“Er– Will he– Is he alright? For tonight I mean?”

The doctor rolled his eyes. “Yes, he’s fine. Though, I want you to sleep in the same room tonight and monitor him just in case.” Well, that wouldn’t be an issue. Despite Wallace’s illness Steven hadn’t the heart to leave him alone, and they’d shared the bed as usual.

Steven nodded. “Thank you. I– I wasn’t sure he’d–” He bit his lip as a way of holding back tears. “Thank you.”

“No problem kid.” He left before Steven could respond, but it didn’t mean anything. Steven had already sat on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through Wallace’s bangs. He wasn’t much better, but Steven could see an improvement, and it gave him relief. “I love you Walls…” Wallace would not answer this time, and he knew it.

\--------------

True to his word, the doctor brought the medications over early the next day. Steven was barely awake and trying to make his morning coffee when the doorbell rang. Strange, he thought, how the man could knock the night before yet ring the bell the next day. Or perhaps maybe he simply had knocked and Steven hadn’t heard. Whatever. It was morning. Bells were bells, regardless.

He trudged to the door, mug in hand, and did his best to force a smile. Although he was cheerful by nature, he was irritable until he’d had at least a cup of coffee or two. The doctor gave him no greeting this time; instead he handed Steven three small vials and sharply started his instructions. “The smallest one is the antibiotic. Give that to him in the morning and the evening, always with food. The larger one is the cough medicine. Every four hours, with water as that one will dehydrate him. And the fever reducer is the liquid. That one obviously only needs to be taken until his fever goes away. If it persists for more than three days, call me, but I doubt it will.”

Steven scuffled awkwardly on his feet; he wished he’d written the instructions down. It was a lot to take in, and his irritability wasn’t helping. “What if I forget the dosage?”

“You won’t.”

“Can’t you write it down?” Now he was just being difficult.

The doctor rolled his eyes. “It is written down. On the bottles.”

Oh. How obvious.

“Honestly I should hope you know how to read a label.”

Steven flushed with embarrassment.  They stared at each for another moment, eyes locked firmly in a mental war for dominance. Finally, the doctor turned away, snorting with his head held high. “I have other things to do. I’ll be leaving now.”

In a way Steven thought he should stop the man before he left and have him look Wallace over once more. He might have improved overnight, but he was still delirious. Steven couldn’t help but worry, after all. But he didn’t speak up. This man had already diagnosed the issue and prescribed medication; there wasn’t much else he could do but entrust Wallace’s care to Steven.

The man had already walked out the door. Even if Steven changed his mind, it was too late to act. Oh well. Coffee in hand, Steven returned to the kitchen to prepare food for Wallace when he woke.

He followed the same process of soupmaking he had repeated numerous times earlier that week. This time he made twice the amount so that he wouldn’t have to cook for himself. Although he enjoyed his time in the kitchen, he wanted to focus on caring for Wallace, so he decided to simply eat with his boyfriend, at least until he was no longer feverish.

It was another hour, before Wallace stirred enough to choke down a bowl of soup and his medications, and he passed out almost immediately after doing so. Steven didn’t think much of it; he was obviously quite ill, and the fatigue was to be expected. Instead of worrying, Steven occupied himself with cleaning. Their home was kept quite orderly due to Wallace’s obsessive tidiness, but in the past week Steven had greatly neglected his cleaning duties. Perhaps it was the lack of nagging, or merely the stress of dealing with illness, but the house had taken on a rather disastrous state. If Wallace woke just then, he would likely have an aneurysm. So, Steven took upon himself the task of organizing their disorderly home.

\--------------

As it turned out, Wallace didn’t completely wake for another two days, and Steven was left with plenty of time to tidy up. The house had been rearranged and reorganized, and every surface had been wiped clean. Just in time, Steven had mused, for as he was finishing up organizing his rock collection, Wallace, wrapped tightly in the comforter and bearing a sour expression, trudged into the room and flopped face first onto the couch.

Steven glanced from what he was doing, a faint smile ghosting his lips. While it remained true that Wallace wasn’t well yet, he wasn’t awfully sick anymore. His fever had gone down almost completely back to normal, and really, all that remained was his cough. Even still Steven refused to allow Wallace to do anything other than rest. A lung infection, even if not pneumonia, was serious; he wanted his lover to rest until he was absolute certain there would be no further complications.

An exaggerated whine came from the couch, and Steven chuckled, stood, and walked over to greet his melodramatic boyfriend. “Walls, what’s wrong?” Wallace turned on his side, so that his face was just barely showing, and pouted at his boyfriend. From the new angle, Steven could see his face well enough to make out a few dramatic changes. His eyes, for one, were glossy, and his pupils dilated, signs that Steven knew anywhere. Ohhh boy. “Walls. Hey.” He nervously bit his lower lip.

Wallace stopped pouting and smiled stupidly at him. He giggled, “yer… wassup w’yer lip? S’taste good?” Oh yes.

“Walls, are you–? Do you feel high?”

“Wa’s high?” he asked, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “S’funny, yahno? The ceiling, I mean. S’all crooked’n powdery er somefin…”

Steven clenched his jaw. An odd mixture of anger and elation settled within him at the realization that Wallace was essentially high as a kite. He was pissed at the doctor for not giving him a single warning at the side effects of the medications, yet giddy at the hilarity that was currently his boyfriend. Damn that doctor – Whatever medicine he’d given the champion was just absurd. Sure it helped with his infection, but the side effects were… Well…

Wallace waved a hand around his head, hummed an off tune melody, and attempted to draw blobs into the air above him. “Stevieeeeeee.” Arceus, there was that cursed nickname again. “Steveeennnnn– Stevieeee– Steve– I don– I don’think I ever told you thisss… S’a secret, don’t tell okay?”

“Yes? What is it Walls, you can tell me anything.”

“Yer hair – S’older’n you are. S’not fair– I want older hair, but my hair is just– Just boring–”

Steven did his absolute best to hold in the laughter that threatened to overflow. He’d dealt with drugged out friends before, and knew that anything said no matter how ridiculous, could potentially be serious. “– B-boring,” he choked out, “I d-don’t think your hair is boring– I think it’s quite b-b-beautiful, ha–” He bit his lip again.

Wallace looked at him incredulously. “Beautiful?”

“Yes, very.” And he meant it. Wallace had the absolute most stunning hair. It was soft, silky, and vibrant, falling down his back in a river of elegance. There wasn’t a person alive with hair that could rival his.

“Sorry,” Wallace grumbled, as he turned to stuff his face into the back of the couch.

“Why are you sorry?” In response, the champion grumbled something unintelligible into the cushions. “I can’t understand you.”

Suddenly, he turned to face Steven. His face was slightly more flushed than it had been, and for a moment, Steven thought his fever might have returned. But, this thought was quickly shoved aside when he answered, “my hair doesn’return yer feeling’sorry.”

Oh Arceus of course he would. At that, Steven burst into laughter, unable to ignore the humor of the situation any longer. Of all things to take out of Steven’s compliment, Wallace believed his hair to be sentient, and not only that but capable of romance. The very absurdity of it forced him to clutch his stomach and try desperately not to choke. In the end he collapsed on the floor with tears welled up at the edge of his eyes, as his abdominals tingled painfully in the aftermath of their seizing.

He sat up slowly, pushed away the remnants of his hysteria, and looked Wallace in the eyes. “Wallace, hair can’t have romantic feelings, it’s not a conscious entity.”

“S’not a what?” Oh this was getting nowhere.

Thankfully, just as Steven was preparing a long and carefully worded lecture, his phone rang. He whispered a quick notice to Wallace that he’d be in the other room, fled, flicked the green button, and held his phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Steven,” was the only answer on the other end. Oh. Shit.

“Juan. It’s been awhile since we’ve talked– Er– What did you need?” Juan had a habit of – Overreacting just a tad – So Steven hadn’t called to warn him of Wallace’s illness, a risky move considering how protective the man could be of his student but… It had been necessary.

“So what’s this I hear about Wallace? Namely his health?” Ah yes, mind games with Juan.

“He’s– He was sick for a bit.”

“And he isn’t now?”

“He’s much better now.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, is he still still sick or isn’t he?” Jaun’s voice was tense, and Steven felt himself grow more nervous with each passing second.

“He’s got a cough.”

“Only a cough? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t wish to worry you.”

“May I speak with him?”

Recalling how loopy Wallace had been mere moments ago, Steven shuddered. If Juan heard him– No. Juan would not hear his babbling nonsense, because Steven would do something he’d not done in awhile; lie. “He’s asleep.”

“I see.”

“Er– Right–”

“I worry about him everyday, you know.” There was so much emotion, so much honesty in his voice that Steven felt like utter garbage for each lie he told this man. Juan had raised Wallace as a son, and was even beginning to treat Steven like one. He did not deserve deceit. “–I can’t help it. He’s my boy, my– I raised him. I love him dearly, you know. I don’t want him to get hurt. So– Please, don’t let him. Don’t hurt him, Steven. I know you two care deeply for each other, or at least, I assume you return his feelings, so please, don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t.”

“I hope that’s the truth, boy.” They held the line for a couple moments of tense silence, before Juan murmured, “I know he isn’t sleeping – Whatever your reasoning is for keeping me away from my son, I only hope it is truly important.” Before Steven could further respond, Juan hung up the phone, and Steven was left alone with a feeling of dissonance as it crept into his heart. He’d betrayed Juan’s trust before, but this time, it felt worse simply because Jaun had known he was being lied to, and didn’t raise his voice.

But even worse, was what he’d said about Wallace; how he assumed Steven returned Wallace’s feelings. No. It was the other way around– Or was it–? Steven was head over heels in love with Wallace, the most perfect man he’d ever met, and Wallace was just– Well he certainly returned some sentiment. But his lack of spoken affection often deterred Steven, and he felt rather alone in the relationship. No. Wallace wouldn’t get hurt, if only because he would be the one to break things off one day.

Oh well. It was best to enjoy good things while they lasted; all good things eventually come to an end.

Steven returned to the living room to find Wallace curled up on the floor sobbing to himself. His concern piqued, and he rushed to his lover and gently shook his shoulder. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?” Thoughts and scenarios danced through his head, his heart speeding considerably more with each. What if Wallace was having a relapse? What if he had just remembered something traumatic? What if he’d hurt himself!?

“You– You kidnapped yer hair,” he slurred.

Steven froze. This was going to be a very long, and stressful day.

\--------------

A month had passed and Steven was left to peacefully enjoy the seaside air with Wallace. They’d just finished eating dinner in Lilycove, a much needed event after all the stress of the last month. Since Wallace had been out of commission for nearly two full weeks, work had piled up, and it took them an entire month get clearance for one date night. Suffice to say they made the most of it.

The gentle atmosphere of the ocean encircled them, reminding Steven what it was like to live in Sootopolis right by the sea. He often missed those days, if only because times had been simpler; he and Wallace were merely two dumb best friends without any worries save their pokemon journeys. He smiled a bit at the memories. Wallace noticed, and gave his hand a firm squeeze. “What are you thinking of?”

Steven chuckled, “just our younger years; when we were just best friends.”

Wallace hummed in response, dragged Steven towards the edge of a railing so they could watch the sea. “Mmm do you miss it?” His voice was soft, but Steven could tell Wallace would be judging his response with utmost care.

“To a degree. I miss how we didn’t worry so much. About the world, about responsibilities, about the damn region–” Wallace nodded in response to the latter. “–I guess I miss it.”

“I– I miss my days as a beginning coordinator. The thrill and nervousness of it all– I often wish I could start over. Have anonymity again.” Wallace sighed, leaning forward onto the railing. “Being champion is... Different.”

Boy did Steven understand that. He definitely did not miss his champion duties. But he did miss the start of his pokemon journey – The thrill of being alone and in control of his life for the first time – It was something he’d never forget. “–Yeah,” he murmured, eyes locked onto Wallace.

“–But, I more meant, do you miss it? Just being friends?”

Steven scoffed. “What, do you? Arceus– I couldn’t even imagine it. I love you so much.” Surely Wallace was joking. There was no way Steven could ever break up with him. But– There was a haunting sincerity in his eyes that made Steven uncomfortable.

“Yes, I– I love you to.” His words were bland, without any clear emotion attached to them. “It’s just, I am nothing special. You have seen me at my worst. You know the real me, not the one everyone views on television. Why in the world do you desire me, of all people?”

Steven bit his lip and pulled Wallace into a hug. “That’s easy, because I love you. Even if I wanted to stop, or live without you, I wouldn’t be able to. You mean the world to me.” Well, it was no or never. “Hey– I know we briefly... Discussed it once I–”

He fell to his knee, awkwardly, fumbling around his pocket. Ah, there it was. Pulling forth a case, he held it out, and opened it. Inside was a silver band with a single blue stone set into the center. The stone was translucent, and shone with the same vibrancy of the ocean; a waterstone. It hadn’t been easy to find, but Steven wanted nothing short of perfect for an engagement ring, and the only stone that screamed Wallace was this one. He’d poured his deepest love into finding this particular stone, and as he looked up into his boyfriend’s eyes, that love was reflected back at him tenfold. He smiled a little.

“–I would be honored, if you’d spend the rest of your life with me.” Really, who could refuse such an honest, heartfelt inquiry?

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys have any comments or questions, I can be found here: http://wayward-fiction.tumblr.com/


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